Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 985: A distant world

Her words echoed through the chamber. The corrupted Totems fed endlessly, draining the life and soul of every Viking they had touched. That power had to flow somewhere.

The most logical conclusion—and the most terrifying—was that it was being used to empower the ascension ruler of the Alien Power that had seized Valhalla.

Such entities were always seeking to pierce the veil of the universe, clawing their way into creation through blood, madness, and ruin. Every manifestation they had ever witnessed followed the same grim pattern.

The Nightmare Universe had once reduced itself to a stream of cosmic filth, slowly rebuilding its form by devouring billions.

The Dream of Madness had incubated within the corpse of a dead Primordial God, feeding on the divinity of its decaying flesh.

And the being known as The Master had risen through a ritual of bloodline sacrifice, consuming an entire ancestral house and the life force of a superior world to manifest.

Now, it seemed, another had joined their ranks.

By corrupting an entire race, transforming them into living parasites, this new ruler sought its own ascension—a doorway through which it could breach the material plane.

"Perhaps," Vlad mused grimly, "the purpose of the energy was not ascension at all. Perhaps it was feeding something even worse." Whatever the truth, it would not be good news for them or for the universe itself.

They had to uncover the principles behind this corruption—and stop it before it reached completion.

"Is there a way to reverse the corruption?"

Freya’s voice broke the silence, fragile yet burning with desperate hope. The corrupted Vikings had become monstrous, yes—but many of them had not chosen that path. The infection spread through proximity, through resonance, through despair. Innocents had been turned into butchers.

If there was any chance to save them—to free them from the Totems’ influence—she wanted to know.

But Overlord shook his head before she even finished speaking. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Once the Totem is corrupted," he said, his voice level and without pity, "the taint reaches into the soul. It twists the core of who they are until their old selves are gone. To attempt purification would mean tearing their souls apart. They would not survive it."

His eyes remained calm, pragmatic.

"Once they are corrupted, they are already dead—walking corpses waiting for the moment their Totem detaches and devours the rest."

Freya lowered her gaze, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She had known, deep down, that mercy would be impossible. Still, hearing it spoken aloud felt like a blade in her chest.

There was no denying the truth. Valhalla—once the proud realm of the Viking race—was now a graveyard of the living.

But sorrow soon gave way to resolve.

Her eyes hardened, a cold sharpness replacing the warmth. She understood now that mercy to the enemy was cruelty to her own people. There would be no hesitation, no forgiveness. She would burn every corrupted soul if it meant protecting the innocent that remained.

Vlad watched her quietly, a faint smile touching his lips. Her compassion had become tempered by purpose. That was good. She would need both in the days to come.

"How exactly does the corruption work?" Vlad asked, turning to Overlord. "The Totems were divine gifts—graces of Odinvaldr himself. How can the ruler of an Alien Power twist something born from a Primordial God?"

If they could not save the corrupted, then at the very least, they had to contain the spread. The infection was limited to the Vikings now, but such boundaries never held. The corruption of one world was often the seed of ten more.

Overlord’s mind focused, channels of power glowing faintly along his temples as he engaged the full analytical capacity of his A.I. systems. The air around him hummed as he dissected the runes and soul structures of the Totems they had recovered.

An hour passed in silence.

Then, Overlord exhaled and shook his head.

"I cannot decipher it," he said. "The principles behind the Totems of Odinvaldr lie too high in the cosmic order. They are faith given physical form—divine conviction crystallized into matter. But their core essence is beyond my reach. Without understanding that essence, I cannot explain how the corruption spreads."

A heavy stillness filled the room.

Vlad frowned, as did the others. They knew Overlord’s analytical abilities surpassed nearly all known Lords; his mind could unravel the secrets of matter and soul alike.

But Odinvaldr was something else entirely—something beyond even the Voice of Heaven.

If the ruler of the Alien Power had truly managed to rewrite Odinvaldr’s divine Totems, then the scale of their power was unimaginable.

"That means..." Freya murmured, "they operate on the same level as The Master—or the Dream of Madness."

"Or worse," Vlad said softly.

The words hung heavy in the air.

They had learned much—but none of it brought comfort. Every revelation seemed to deepen the void beneath their feet.

Vlad exhaled slowly, lightning flickering across his armor like faint breaths of frustration.

"We should rest," he said at last. "Once the Nightmare Universe finishes assimilating Eligos’ memories, we’ll know more. Then we’ll decide our next move."

The others nodded. There was nothing more to say.

The storm would come soon enough.

Far from Terra, in a world called Eto, dawn broke upon golden spires and crystalline seas. It was a prosperous realm, recently elevated by the emergence of a Superior Legend, whose ascension had filled his people with pride. The future seemed bright, promising centuries of peace and prosperity.

But that morning, all dreams ended.

A crimson rift split the sky. From it descended an army of Devils—an endless host stretching from horizon to horizon. Their laughter shook the firmament.

The World King looked up, his heart freezing as he felt the weight of their combined power. But he did not flee. He summoned his courage, his will, and the authority of his world, channeling every ounce of strength into his body.

He rose into the sky like a burning star.

"As long as I stand," he roared, "Eto will not fall!"

"Hmph. Ant." That single word sealed his fate.

A massive demonic hand, large enough to blot out the moon, descended from the rift. It struck him with apocalyptic force, smashing him from the heavens to the earth. His body shattered, his soul torn apart in an instant.

The shockwave rippled across the planet, breaking mountains and boiling oceans.

And in its wake, the bells of hell began to toll—heralding that another world had fallen.